


The Uncertainty of Fatherhood

by sparkinski



Series: the universe that got away from me [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Kid Fic, Love, Mahariel is severely injured in one section, Pain, Timelines, Unexpected Pregnancy, Wedding, background Cullen/Inquisitor - Freeform, children discussions, dad!alistair, they found the cure, very very very mild smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-13
Updated: 2016-04-13
Packaged: 2018-06-02 02:37:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6547198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparkinski/pseuds/sparkinski
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Mahariel asked Alistair about having children, and one time she actually had one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Uncertainty of Fatherhood

**Author's Note:**

> When I started writing this, I sort of accidentally started filling in the backstory with a universe I already have created, so this actually coincides with with my dad!Cullen fic, Little Warrior. (The bulk of the creation isn't posted anywhere; I have 33k words sitting in a doc waiting to be finished, a reimagining of Cullen/Lavellan's relationship.)
> 
> That being said, the timeline in this universe IS a little different than canon. But mostly you just need to know that the events of Trespasser happened right after the events of DA:i, instead of three years later.
> 
> This was supposed to be just straight up, 2k words or so of disgustingly fluffy dad!Alistair, but um, well, the story got away from me and now it's 9k of mostly pain, so, my apologies. But perhaps more kid fics will happen in the future?
> 
> (Also Alistair knows he's half-Elf and Fiona isn't a thing because I didn't find out she was his mother until I was almost done writing this, AND Mahariel/Lavellan are from the same clan.)

“What would you do if we had a child, my love?”

Alistair snorted. “Probably trip over myself a lot, _maybe even_ pass out. The possibilities are endless, really.”

The words were passed amongst the warm Fereldan air, lost in the rustle of the trees surrounding them as they laid on the forest floor on their bedrolls. No tent. Just them, and the stars above.

Alistair was 21 years old, Mahariel 19. They had just stopped the blasted _Blight_ with no other Grey Wardens in sight, and it was an actual _miracle_ they had both made it out alive.

And with Morrigan’s ritual fresh on his mind, the entire _reason_ Alistair and Mahariel had both survived… he sort of felt sick at her suggestion.

Not that he wouldn't _want_ a family with her, someday, some day far, far away, yes definitely, sure, that was something he could love and cherish, but so soon after he…? After Morrigan…? He shuddered at the thought.

But Mahariel, love of his life as she was, rolled on top of him with a devilish, _magnificent_ grin, straddling his hips and leaning down to share his breath. “I can see the nervous wheels of your brain turning,” she whispered into the corner of his mouth, shook her head. “It was only a question, not a serious inquiry, love.”

His hands slid slowly up her thighs as his eyes narrowed, teasing. “So this isn't some messed up way of you informing me you are with child?”

She laughed, an airy, carefree laugh that carried out into the woods around them, blanketed him in the warmth of it, and _Maker’s breath_ was she beautiful. He would never be over the fact that she was _his_ , just as he was hers. How could he end up so lucky?

He eyed the line of her neck, exposed from her laughter, and reached up to suckle at it, to nip at the pale skin, and her laugh turned into a sigh, the tiniest sound of pleasure as her fingers slid into his hair. “No,” she chuckled belatedly, leaning into him more. “I am not with child.”

“Good,” he mumbled. “I would be a bumbling idiot of a father anyway. I’d probably drop it on its head or something.”

She shook her head, smile returning and she leveled her gaze with his. “I think-...” But she seemed to think better of saying what she intended, and Alistair had no time to question her before she was saying something else. “Do you want children?”

“Um,” he responded eloquently. “Eventually, I think?” He nodded in affirmation. “Yeah, eventually. Just not right now. Definitely not ready for that. But…”

“The taint,” she whispered.

“...Yes. It’s-...”

Even if Alistair wanted a child, they probably would not be able to conceive. Because they were Grey Wardens. Because they were too heavily connected to darkspawn.

He saw the flicker of hurt cross her face, the way she tried to hide it. Oh, Maker, she _wanted_ a child. Maybe not now, but she… it was something she desired and her fate of becoming a Grey Warden may take that away from her.

“Hey…” he whispered, brushing her hair from her face.

But she merely smiled and leaned down to kiss him. “Be young and carefree with me?” She accentuated her playful words with a languid rolling of her hips against his and he groaned, laughed, an odd mix, and dragged her head down so he could kiss her properly, _thoroughly_ , nipping at her bottom lip before rolling them over and pinning her body down with his, trying not to falter at the way her heels dug into his bottom, the way she continued grinding against him like the minx she was, little sighs leaving her lips each time until he was overcome with the _need_ to consume them. His mouth sealed against hers and his hips began participating, until it was all too much, until his hands had to find their way to her skirt, lifting, dipping under and she was moaning his name, egging him on, encouraging the pleasurable things she had taught him in their time together.

Young and carefree, he could be.

A father, however, he could not.

\---

“What would you do if we had a child, my love?”

The question was familiar to him now, still a little odd to think on, but familiar nonetheless. An inside joke, an icebreaker to whatever tension surrounded them, something that made her smile.

He didn’t know why this is what he thought about as he _ran_.

Elegance, grace, discreetness, what _ever_ be _damned_.

He had received a note, written in shaky hand, yet still one he would recognize anywhere, that merely said:   _The cave that sheltered us from the storm._

He remembered that night vividly, even though it was nearly three years ago at this point.

It was a cave just outside Honnleath, and the area was so suddenly _slammed_ by a severe storm, it had caught _everyone_ off guard, the ominous clouds in the sky not enough to warn against the deadly funnel that would glide across the ground, destroying everything in its wake. He remembered having to be the brave one, resolving to be, when Mahariel clung to him, fear and uncertainty evident, Wolf, cowering at their feet.

They ran, much like he was now, back toward the village, away from the gray cone of terror because Alistair had remembered spotting a cave on their way out, and he just prayed to the Maker and Mahariel’s Elven Gods that it was deep enough to keep them safe from this monstrosity of Mother Nature’s creation.

They huddled in the farthest corner together, Wolf deciding he was brave enough to put himself in front of them, lying across their laps protectively, like he wouldn’t just be swept away by the force of the wind.

It was easy to tell when the funnel was upon them. It was _loud_.

The kiss is what struck his memory so deeply, the way they had kissed one another, so passionate, so full of _goodbyes_ , because they were certain they had defeated a bloody Blight, but would perish to this storm. Alistair had held her head against his chest then, curled protectively around her just as Wolf was of them, watching with eyes wide and breaths short as debri whipped violently into the cave, as rocks broke off at the entrance.

And then it suddenly just… stopped.

The entrance of the cave got a little brighter and the angry wind slowed and slowed until it stopped completely.

But the trio, uncertain of how such storms worked, stayed glued to that corner until dawn the next day, walking out with aching limbs from being too scared to let one another go, too scared to sleep.

Destruction surrounded them, trees down, wagons dropped from the sky and splintered into complete uselessness, but as they approached Honnleath, they were relieved to find the Funnel of Death had disappeared just before it struck town. Some of the outer houses and shops had suffered from a little wind damage, but that was all.

Seeing the cave from his memories ripped him away from the past. It had not only been five months since he had seen his love, but the shakiness of her handwriting had him _worried to death_.

He could only be happy that he had been visiting Honnleath, looking into a potential Warden recruit, when the bird had dropped the slip of paper on his head.

So he forgot everything else, and ran.

When she whispered that blasted question to him as he dropped to his knees at her side, her voice weak, barely grappling a hold of consciousness, _Maker_ , _blood_ seeping through her flimsy, leather armor--that she loved _so_ much--from a stomach wound, his entire body ran cold.

He shook his head as tears filled his eyes and he caressed her cheek before pulling a knife out of his pocket to slice open her armor. “ _What happened_?” he cried, desperately willing his hands to steady as the crimson gash against her alabaster skin was revealed.

It was deep, Maker, it was deep. He tried not to weep like a little boy, tried to be strong and brave for her, just as he had when that storm hit.

Her hand made a feeble attempt to rest on his thigh, but she ended up loosely gripping the fabric of his breeches instead. “I have missed my handsome prince.”

Alistair scrunched his nose, shook his head, glanced away, _anything_ to stop the sobs that threatened to spill from his chest. “Darling, what happened? You need to _tell me what_ _happened_.”

Wolf whined on the other side of her, his body nestled close, protectively, head on Mahariel’s shoulder. The sound startled Alistair, who’d had a bad case of tunnel vision, had only seen his love bleeding out on the ground.

“Think it was… a Blood Mage…” Mahariel forced out quietly. “Never even saw them.” Alistair's hands slipped, his gloves covered in her blood. “So much for being a rogue, huh?” She was trying to lighten the mood, trying to _cheer him up_.

“Y-You sneak up on _me_ all the time,” he tried, searching their surroundings for something to help apply pressure to the wound instead of just his hands, to stitch her up, a _bandage_ , _something_.

She snorted, but immediately groaned in pain. “Yes,” she struggled to say. “But you are a dolt.”

He laughed through the tears that spilled from his eyes. “Always insulting my intelligence.” He spotted her pack then, the clothes falling out of it. “Wolf, bring me her rucksack, quickly.”

The Mabari was up in an instant, extra careful not to jostle Mahariel, while her eyes shut with a smile. “Only joking… you are... so much smarter than… you think…”

“Lyna, Lyna, my love, please, try and stay awake,” Alistair cried as Wolf tossed her bag down in front of him. The lack of Health Poultices did nothing to sate his fear. One hand left her stomach and pulled out the pair of pants he had spotted. He crumpled them up as best he could, trying his damned hardest to ignore the amount of blood he was smearing on them. “W-Wolf,” he muttered as he pressed the wad of material to his love’s wound. “Wolf, do you think you could find a healer?” The dog tilted its head to the side. “A Healer, Wolf, like Wynne, remember?”

“Y-You have to… have to…”

“ _No_ ,” Alistair shouted. “I’m not leaving you. Wolf will find someone; he’s a Mabari, he-he’s smart.”

Mahariel shook her head slowly, eyes still not open. “Won’t follow. Will think… it’s a trap.”

He knew she was right, but _fucking-_ he _couldn’t_ just leave her this way.

“I-I’ll be fine. Wolf will…”

She coughed, and Alistair wanted to scream. She was getting so much worse, so quickly, _dammit_ , he had to get a healer. _Now_. “Wolf,” he sobbed. “Come here boy, listen.” The dog trotted over with wide eyes. “You see how my hands are here?” He looked at Mahariel’s stomach pointedly. “I need you to rest your head there, alright?”

Wolf immediately laid down, pulled himself closer until he could reach his chin upward, waiting for Alistair to move his hands. Slowly, he did, and Wolf replaced the pressure with his head.

“Y-You can’t put all of your weight on her, you hear me?” Wolf barked softly. “She’s too weak to move you if you do.” Another bark. He picked up his love’s hand. “I will be back as quickly as I can, Mahariel. I swear it.” He kissed her palm. “I love you so much.”

She hummed. “Love…”

His bottom lip trembled as he gently placed her hand back on the ground and took off running.

He stopped for no one, ignored the shouts of disapproval when he would accidentally bump someone; all he needed to do was make it back to the house he was at before.

Because the potential Grey Warden recruit came from a family of healers.

He burst through the door, considered apologizing at how much he startled the family sitting around the fire but the words didn’t come. “Healers,” he gasped. “Immediately. Please.”

The Warden recruit immediately jumped up, rushed over to an armoire on the other side of the room, pulled out a sack and started stuffing various items into it while Alistair hovered anxiously in the doorway, certain his shortness of breath was not from how fast he had run here.

“Alistair…” the recruit’s father approached cautiously. “How bad is it? Who is hurt?”

“It-It’s bad, oh, it’s so bad.” He angrily wiped tears from his face. “It’s my love. I had no idea she- if I’d have known I would have brought you right away, I-...”

“Shh, shh, it’s alright, son.” The elder man placed a warm hand on his shoulder, glancing down at Alistair’s shaky, blood-soaked gloves. “It’s an external wound?”

Alistair nodded. “Gash. On her stomach. It-It’s deep. She was fading fast. _Maker_ …”

“I’ve got everything we need!” the boy, Blain, rushed over to them at the door and Alistair wasted no time, bolted back out into the sunlight, heading straight for the cave, and prayed they could keep up.

Mahariel was unconscious when they arrived, Wolf whining desperately, obviously trying to wake her up with sound, and Alistair’s world stopped spinning.

Once more, he fell to his knees, had half a mind, at least, to crawl out of the way so Blain and his father could examine her. He tore off his gloves, chunked them on the other side of the cave, and started combing his fingers through her hair, caressing her face, willing her to wake up by touch alone, just as Wolf had with sound.

He called the Mabari to him, when he realized he was not picking up his head, was not letting them observe the severity of her wound, protecting her from these strangers. “I-It’s alright, Wolf. They’re-... they’re going to help her.”

With a low whine, the dog obeyed, slumped over to him sadly until he was next to him, facing Mahariel and slipping his head under Alistair’s arm to rest it on his thigh, watching, waiting. And that’s all Alistair could do as well.

Watch. Wait.

“Ya did good, kid,” the elder man eventually said, no doubt trying to divert Alistair’s attention from the blood-soaked trousers lying on the ground next to the love of his life. “Having, er, Wolf, you said? Having Wolf apply pressure like that. Looks like it significantly slowed the bleeding, makes it much easier for me and my boy to get her patched up and healing.”

Alistair watched as Blain thoroughly cleaned the wound. “S-So you think she’ll be alright?” His voice was broken, rough, and he hadn’t truly realized how hard he was crying until that moment. Wolf licked his arm comfortingly.

“I think the sooner we get her sewn up, the better,” the man answered. “You might not wanna watch, kid.”

Alistair just nodded, dropped his chin to his chest and squeezed his eyes shut, forcing his sobs downward, instead of outward. _Please, Lyna,_ he thought desperately. _I need you, I sodding need you. Please don’t leave me here all alone. You’re all I have._

The silent pleas did nothing to ease her from unconsciousness, of course, but it gave him something to focus on, something to pass the time until the old man told him it was safe to look again.

When he did, Blain was brushing a salve over the thread holding Mahariel’s skin together before carefully taping a bandage down over it.

“Now,” Blain’s father said. “The hard part is trying to get a Health Poultice in her, to help heal from the inside out.”

“H-How…” Alistair tried.

The man smiled gently. “We shouldn't move her too much just yet, but try lifting her head a little for me, will you? We’ll try to ease the Poultice down.”

Alistair just nodded, not sure he trusted his voice, and beckoned Wolf out of the way so he could follow the order. He got his hands situated on the bottom and side of her head as gently as possible as Blain scooted closer with a potion.

The moment the first sip hit the back of her throat she started coughing.

Alistair started crying again. “Lyna, my love…”

“Alistair…?”

“S-Shh, darling, you need to drink this Poultice, alright? Please.”

He watched the way her eyelids fluttered as the flask was brought to her lips again, as if her body was uncertain whether it should be conscious or not. His thumbs stroked the skin they could reach, coaxing her on.

It was a grueling process, getting her to drink the entire thing, but eventually it was done, and she was more awake by the end of it, a little more coherent.

He reached for her rucksack, carefully placed her clean shirt to the side, and crumbled up the bag to place under her head, trying to provide more comfort than the rocky ground of the cave.

“I think it’ll be safe to move her in a couple of hours,” Blain cut in softly, obviously not totally willing to interrupt the way Alistair and Mahariel were staring at each other. “You are both welcome at our place.”

“That…” Mahariel started weakly. “That is very kind but…” She grimaced in pain. “I am technically AWOL from the Wardens right now. I cannot risk being seen.”

The boy nodded. “Understood. I’ll check back in soon, then? Bring you both some food and water?”

“That would be very much appreciated,” Alistair murmured gratefully. “Thank you both, _so much_.”

“Of course, kid. This is what we do.” The old man grunted as he stood up while Blain collected the various things he had strewn about. “Send Wolf to us if… anything happens.”

“I will, thank you.” Alistair looked at the Mabari. “Follow them home real quick, will you, buddy? So you know exactly where to find them?”

With a soft yip and appreciative lick to Mahariel’s cheek, Wolf obeyed, patiently waiting for the Healers to gather their belongings and leave the cave.

When they were alone, Alistair slid down, lying on his side next to her. He reached over to brush hair from her face and sniffled. Her hand found his and laced their fingers before she said, “Something is happening, Alistair.”

“What do you mean?”

“I do not know, but… something is not right. I came across a group, a cult it seemed, of Blood Mages.” She had to stop a moment, breath short, still so weak. “They were chanting about a New God, Alistair… I-... I thought I made it away without being seen but I think I was being watched the whole time.” She swallowed. “I heard a rustle in the leaves. That’s all. Before-...”

“We will find them,” Alistair asserted fiercely. “I will make them pay for what they d-”

He stopped when she shook her head. “I do not think this is something we can handle on our own this time. It… It feels much bigger than the Blight. It is different from the Circle, what Uldred did. Something…”

“Shh, shh,” Alistair leaned over to kiss her gently. “We’ll figure it out, right? We always do. Or, _you_ always do.”

She smiled, shaking her head. “I love you so much,” she whispered.

“I love you more,” he breathed.

“Nonsense.” Her grin softened. “You never answered my question.”

“Wha-? Oh, you mean the question you asked while you were casually bleeding out? Right. How could I be so senseless?”

She huffed a short laugh, rolled her eyes. “I am not bleeding out now.”

He sighed, but smiled gently. “Whatever happens, happens, my darling, happiness will find us either way.”

\---

“What would you do if we had a child, my love?”

It was meant lightly, teasingly this time, because she would always ask it of him, he expected it, and it wasn’t weird to hear anymore, not ten years later.

But it was monumentally bad timing.

He had stepped out of their temporary cabin for a breath of fresh air, to peer out over the lake out front and clear his head, but Mahariel knew him, knew he was upset and, as per usual, was determined to cheer him up.

Her embrace snaked around his torso first, and his arm lifted automatically, for her to duck her head under and cuddle up to him. But he still wasn’t _present_ , couldn’t be, with the letter he had just received. His focus was on the ripples of the gray water at his feet, the fennec rustling through a bush to his right, the druffalos in the distance.

He looked up to the darkening, purple sky and wished for rain. Anything to wash away the gut-wrenching feeling of _unawareness._ But he knew it would not come as the stars peeked out at him, no clouds in sight.

He sighed.

“Ma’ vhenan,” his love whispered into his chest, peppering the skin of his collar with tiny, tickling kisses, connecting the dots of his freckles while he remained impassive, unable to form any sort of coherent response or reaction.

She giggled, and he knew it was just another attempt, that she was trying so hard, trying anything to break the barriers he had raised, because she had nothing to giggle about. Not with the way her arms around him tightened and she gazed at him worriedly.

And so she tried her last trick, the child question, and it struck a nerve, drew him out of his stupor, but not in the way she intended.

He ripped away from her, walked a couple of steps away to face the hills, and forced out the words, “ _I already have a child_.”

The silence that lingered between them lasted a lifetime.

Their natural light source from the sky was dwindling, soon they would only have the reflection of the moon on the lake, but Alistair was sure he did not want to see the look on her face regardless.

“Alistair,” she finally whispered, and he was not too proud to admit that her proximity startled him, _damn Rogue abilities_ . She hooked her hand gently onto his arm. “That is-... you do not _really_ -”

“Don't really what? Have a child?” He laughed humorlessly. “I do. I _fucking_ do. With Morrigan remember? You’re the one who convinced me it would be a good idea?” His words were harsh, enough to make her grip slip from him and he whipped around quickly enough to witness her taking a step back, the utter sadness in her eyes before she masked it, put up her own barrier.

Her voice was small, but firm, when she said, “I was only trying to save our lives. You did not have to agree to it. One of us could have died instead.”

He knew she didn't mean it as a low blow, knew even more that this wasn’t her blasted fault, but he was trapped in his anger, unable to escape. “ _Right_ , because I _wanted_ you to die, or _wanted_ to leave you behind. Makes _perfect_ sense.”

“Alistair, why is this bothering you _now_?”

His face flushed with anger, he could feel the heat of it. “And what makes you think this hasn't _bothered_ me from the moment it happened?”

“I-... I’m sorry, that was a poor choice of words, I just-... Maker, I knew this would haunt you some day, I wish…”

Alistair scoffed. “Oh of _course_. What, let me guess, you’re jealous?”

The strangled breath that escaped her gave him halt. He couldn’t _believe_ such words had tumbled from his mouth so carelessly. He might not be the King of Fereldan, but he was certainly the King of Shoving His Foot In His Mouth, and he knew this was an overstep. She didn't deserve those words, or for him to treat her like that. He was a _fool_.

“Maker, I didn't mean that, I-...” His hands reached for his love but she turned away.

“Don’t use that against me,” she whispered, so quiet he barely heard. “Anything but that, I beg you.”

His heart shattered, into a _million_ pieces, he was sure of it. He was the world’s _worst_. “Please, darling, I’m so sorry. Sorry does not cover it, I’m-” He reached out for her again without thinking, because they were a tactful pair, always touching, always there, and his fingertips grazed her shoulder before she sank down to the ground, loosely hugging her knees to her chest, she now the one seeking solace in the dark water in front of them. He whispered her name, broken.

“I… just need a moment, a-alright?” she muttered, and something twisted, knotted in his stomach because she was _crying_ and _he was the cause_. He was _never_ the source of her pain, it was his Life Plan not to be, yet here he was, tearing insults into her as if she wasn't the love of his life.

All over a blasted letter.

“Of course, my love,” he whispered, rubbing his hands down his face anxiously.

He stood there for a moment, watching her tremble and hug herself, and it took every ounce of willpower he had to not drop to his knees and beg for forgiveness, to embrace her and wipe her tears away. But he would respect her wishes.

He turned away then, making a decision, and paced into the cabin, straight to his rucksack, and rummaged through his belongings until he had his hands on three letters. All with the Inquisition stamp. All about Morrigan’s child. _His_ child, technically.

His eyes scanned the words again and he felt that familiar anxiety bubble up within him, trying to consume him, and he stared around the cabin instead, the dimly lit, country mess of a place the Inquisition had offered them. It belonged to one of Ellana’s inner circle, and hadn't seen care in at least a year, judging from the layer of dust on everything, had also been raided in its owner’s, the wannabe Warden’s, absence, but it would do for now. It had a bed and fireplace and a _roof_. And he was quite tired of sleeping outside, no matter how much Mahariel enjoyed it.

Mahariel. His eyes shut at the reminder of what he had said.

She wanted children so badly, and even if he wasn't quite ready, he would happily give them to her, but the taint still coursed through their veins--although, so did a potential cure now--and the older they got, the less likely Mahariel would survive childbirth if the taint would even allow them to conceive at all, and that was too painful a road of thoughts to go down.

He mustered up the mental strength to tread back outside, was hit with the cool breeze and the relief that she was standing again, waiting for him.

Still, he approached cautiously, and could not find words to say once he was stopped in front of her.

“Now,” she said, too calmly, a facade. “What happened?”

He stared down at the letters in his hand, and without looking up, handed her the first one.

 

_Alistair,_

_I hope you and Mahariel are doing well. I do not have much time to write; things have become beyond hectic here and to be completely honest, I just need someone outside of the castle to know it will be a miracle if any of us make it out of this alive. Elluvians have become involved in Corypheus’ plot, and while you may not have first-hand experience with them, you know Mahariel does. They’re bad news._

_Morrigan has been helping us understand them better, but I have just received word that she ran off into one after her child, and Creators, Alistair, I didn’t even know she had one? She doesn’t seem the motherly type. But that’s not important. I thought you two would want to know, because I do not know where the Elluvian leads, or if she, or I, will make it out. But I have to go in after her._

_Tell Mahariel that I love her, and not to come stealthing her way into Skyhold to try and save me. On second thought, don’t tell her, please, until you hear word of whether I survived or not. I don’t want either of you involved in this; you have helped more than enough._

_Thank you for everything, my friend_ _,  
_ _Inquisitor Ellana_

 

The handwriting was so _rushed_ , Alistair knew she must have written it at the speed of light, ready to speed off to save Morrigan, just like she would speed off to save everyone in Thedas, just like Mahariel.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” his love whispered, anger evident. “We’re _two hours away_ , we could have-”

He couldn’t answer her. He handed her the next letter.

 

_Alistair,_

_I am only responding to this letter to give my hands purpose._  
_Ellana has not returned, nor Morrigan._  
_I have recruited Solas to try and see what we can find out and they’re… they’re in the Fade. Solas cannot reach them, by dream or the Elluvian, which is worrying the Elf, and now, I am expected to command my troops, train them for another attack on an ancient Magister darkspawn, while the woman I love is trapped in Hell.  
_ _Solas catches glimpses of them though, and while I am not sure why you want to know, or rather, why you don’t already know, if Morrigan is your friend… I have answers to your questions._

_She has a boy, ten years old or so, and his name is Kieran._

_Maker watch over you,  
_ _Commander Cullen_

 

Even though this letter was shorter, it took Mahariel much longer to react--he presumed because it was clear Alistair had asked for details of the boy--and even when she did, she merely reached out her hand for the third letter.

 

_Alistair,_

_I am fine; Morrigan and I both made it out of the Fade, but… Flemeth kidnapped Kieran. Morrigan is not doing well, and I am sending Scouts out into the Wilds to search for any trace of Flemeth and the boy._

_I miss you both,  
_ _Inquisitor Ellana_

 

The letter crumpled in Mahariel’s hand, her reaction fierce. “We _killed_ Flemeth! You were there! It was harder than slaying the _fucking_ archdemon, and she’s _back_? We risked our lives for _nothing_?”

“She is wicked,” Alistair supplied. “We should have known she would have found her way back somehow. What with her being several hundred years old and all.” His words felt empty, like this should have been a normal conversation, but it very obviously _wasn’t_.

“Are you alright?” she asked, rather unexpectedly. Her face was still hard, guarded, but her voice was gentle, always caring, even when he treated her like _shit_ apparently.

He blew out a breath. “I don’t know.”

“What do you want to do?”

“You’re asking me? When _you_ are clearly the decision-maker of this pair?” He shook his head,  turning to the water and peering up at the sky once again. “I feel as though I have… an obligation to the boy, but… do I?”

Her hand rubbed his back comfortingly as she hovered closer without hesitation.

They were a tactful pair.

“No,” she muttered. “You really don’t. It is good that you care so much, but-”

“But he’s not _really_ my son, I know.” Alistair sighed. “It was such a clear agreement ten years ago. Procreate, Morrigan’s only, old God baby, Alistair no rights, but…” Another sigh. “I truly haven’t even thought about it much over the past decade, but when Ellana sent that first letter… it was the first I had even heard of him, and something just… struck me.”

“I know, darling, I know,” her breath tickled his collar as she took a moment to embrace him as she had before his outburst. “I can’t imagine what that-what that must feel like…”

Something in the way her voice cracked told him she wished she did.

She pressed her lips against his jaw before pulling away and walking back into the cabin. He faltered. She was upset again. Didn’t want him to comfort her. Why could she comfort him, but not the other way around?

He sunk to his knees in the grass, head in his hands, allowing anguish to consume him until it could no longer.

When he eventually drifted back into the cabin, all lights but the fire were extinguished, and his love was asleep in bed, curled up... with Wolf.

He sighed, fetching a blanket from the chair by the fireplace and spread it out on the floor next to her side of the bed, because she may not have wanted him to sleep with her tonight, but he would be near just in case nightmares plagued her, as they sometimes still did.

A tear escaped down his temple as he laid there on the ground, wondering if he would ever be genuinely ready to give Mahariel the family she so desperately wanted.

\---

“What would you do if we had a child, my love?”

The question was unexpected this time. Not because Alistair had forgotten about it or anything, but because she hadn’t uttered those words in _years_. Well, two, to be exact. Something within him had missed it, the familiarity, the light in her eyes as she said it, always so bright, hopeful. But after the last time… his outburst over the child he had created with Morrigan… she had avoided the subject like a plague.

He hated that he was the cause of that.

But now?

Now they were _married_.

The thought alone was enough to melt him into a pathetic puddle on the floor, even after twelve years together, twelve years of _absolute_ certainty that there would never be another woman for him…

Maker’s breath, he just loved her so much.

Things had been so chaotic for so long, so busy, so much traveling, so much Warden rebuilding to do, _twice._

But then they were at Cullen and Ellana’s wedding, this big, beautiful affair that the couple both resented, but, _when you’re leading the Inquisition…_ and Alistair had been overcome, _completely_ overwhelmed with warmth and affection and love, and without thinking about it, without even a ring, he leaned forward until his lips touched Mahariel’s ear as they danced slowly, and whispered, “Marry me?”

And so she did.

It took another year for the wedding to come into fruition, when not long after Cullen and Ellana’s nuptials, shit, er, _hit the fan_ , as Varric had said. The Inquisition’s power was questioned, Qunari attacked, _again_ , Solas was revealed as an old God, Ellana _lost her arm_.

You know, a typical day in Thedas.

Alistair and Mahariel helped where they could, ended up stationed at Skyhold, holding down the fort and keeping an eye on the damn Elluvian the Inquisition had locked away. Well, Alistair kept an eye on it. He wouldn’t let Mahariel anywhere near it.

But eventually life settled down long enough for Alistair and Mahariel to plan their wedding, for Cullen and Ellana to have their first child.

It was small, much the opposite of the one that had inspired Alistair’s proposal. The location was on the outskirts of Starkhaven, at a beautiful lake, flowers gracing the edges, grassy hills surrounding them, a cozy cabin nestled on a dock over the water.

So few people were there--Alistair jokingly commented on how unpopular they are--but it was exactly what they wanted.

They, with the help of Leliana, had managed to track down Zevran and Oghren, who each brought dates along, and then there was Cullen, Ellana, their baby Ava, Josephine, Cassandra, and a couple of close Warden allies.

They were to be officiated by Leliana, and Alistair was standing under the archway donned in roses with her, and Wolf, when his love stepped out of the cottage with Ellana and stopped his breath.

She was _dazzling_.

Tears filled his eyes as Mahariel’s feet carried her toward him slowly, their gazes never faltering from one another, their smiles unwavering.

She had never been a very _girly_ girl, the type to wear dresses and makeup and spend more than five minutes focused on her hair, but that didn't matter to Alistair. She was still the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

But now as she approached him, his wife to be, she was wearing a form fitting, thin, white gown adorned in lace, covered in sparkles that catch the light, the thick straps that rested at the edge of her shoulders giving a wide enough berth to show off her collarbones and neck.

He broke their mutual gaze so he could scan his eyes down her dress, the flowy skirt with… with patches scattered across it that looked suspiciously like roses.

His bottom lip trembled and the only thing that kept him from legitimately crying was the fact she wasn't wearing any shoes. He laughed instead, small, lovingly, and she beamed at him, almost close enough to touch now.

He took her hands in his and refrained from kissing the loving _Maker_ out of her, because Leliana had said that wasn't allowed until the end of the ceremony. Instead, he raised one of her hands to brush his lips gently across her knuckles, and said, “You will always be the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes on.”

“And you the most handsome,” she whispered, tone grateful.

“Really?” He narrowed his eyes playfully. “The most handsome woman?”

She threw her head back and laughed, and he knew then that she was the picture of perfection. “You know what I meant you dolt.”

“Always with the insults. Even when we’re getting married.”

She looked ready to launch forward and, Maker’s breath, he would let her, he _needed_ her in his arms, but Leliana took a minute step forward and said, “ _Alright_.”

Alistair and Mahariel snickered.

It was obvious Leliana was trying not to smile, however, as she began the ceremony.

Lovely as it was, Alistair officially, publicly declaring how crazy about this woman he was, Mahariel basically singing poetry about him--okay, he _wished_ \--he just wanted to get to the part where he got to kiss his _wife_.

Alistair took a vow to the Maker, Mahariel to her Elven Gods, and suddenly Leliana was saying excitedly, “Okay, kiss each other already! Husband and wife.”

She didn't have to tell Alistair twice.

One hand to his _wife’s_ hip, the other against her face, he pulled her into him, kissed her deeply, thoroughly, lovingly.

He felt tears on his face and didn't even know who they belonged to as their friends applauded their joining.

When Zevran started coughing, a twelve year old indicator that they had been kissing for too long, the couple parted and Leliana engulfed them in a hug. “I am so happy right now,” she muttered. “I have been waiting for you two to get married from the moment I witnessed Alistair hand over that rose, _Maker_!”

“Don't I recall you being jealous, actually?” Alistair questioned, but Leliana merely scoffed.

“Of course I was jealous. Lyna is a beautiful woman who was making me question my loyalty to the Maker!” Mahariel blushed at that. “But that does not mean I wasn’t rooting for you two. I truly believe you were made for each other.”

Mahariel sniffled and Alistair’s hands found their way around her waist. “We were, weren’t we?” he murmured, and she just kissed him again.

Eventually the group scattered as the sun began to set, turning the sky various shades of pink and orange, everyone mingling, picking at the various foods that had been prepared.

“You know, I am confused,” Zevran said as he approached Alistair at the food table. “I was under the impression that you two were married when I tried to kill you?”

“Oh yeah, good times,” Alistair rolled his eyes. “Zev, we had literally just met.”

“I did not know that!” the Elf exclaimed. “I thought the Blight was your idea of a honeymoon with the way you two always veered from the path on our travels. Lyna is _not quiet_ , you know-”

“ _Allllllright,_ enough of _that_ , good talk, thanks for coming, buddy!” Alistair bolted away, laughing, and immediately ended up beelining for Mahariel.

He was just about to call to her when he noticed the bundle in her arms.

Ellana and Cullen greeted him with easy smiles as he reached them, but Mahariel didn't even notice.

“Creators, she is the _perfect_ mixture of the both of you!” she proclaimed, marveling between the two parents and the baby. “How is that even _possible_?”

“Nonsense,” Cullen huffed, a slight blush on his cheeks. “She only has my hair.”

Ellana giggled, obviously used to this behavior the Commander was exhibiting, and Alistair smirked. “Bitter, are we, Cullen?”

“Very,” Ellana whispered conspiratorially, adding a wink for good measure before Cullen’s hand gently, playfully, pushed against her face, “shoving” her away.

“I am not _bitter_ ,” the Commander protested. “I’ve no reason to be when she looks so much like Ellana.”

The Inquisitor beamed, falling into the man’s embrace easily as she met his lips in a gentle kiss.

Mahariel suddenly cut in, having missed most of the previous exchange for the sake of being so wrapped up in the baby. “You have seen her eyes though right? _They_ are literally the perfect mixture of you two, how _gorgeous_.”

Alistair held his breath at the look on his love’s face. She was so enthralled by this child, so in love even though it was not her own. A hand clapped onto his shoulder and he followed the line of Cullen’s arm hazily. The man smiled gently, nodded, understanding.

But could he _really_ understand? Cullen had wanted children, from the moment he fell for Ellana he wanted a family with her, and Alistair, _twelve years later_ was still so unsure. Their lives were dangerous, unpredictable, and they had taken the cure to their Grey Warden-ness two years ago yet still had no idea if it had truly worked? It was-

“It changes your life,” Cullen murmured. “In the best way.”

Alistair let his gaze fall to his wife again, Maker, his _wife_ , and sort of fell in love with her all over again, for the millionth time. She was the definition of beauty in her white gown, her hair in a braid pulled to the side, the Dalish tattoos on her back peeking from under her dress.

His hands found her mindlessly, grazing across the back of her shoulders, her stomach, until he was embracing her, head on her shoulder to get a better look at Ava. The little girl, six months old now, peered up at him with the widest eyes… and laughed.

He pretended to be offended, scoffed and everything, but it was the most adorable thing he had ever witnessed; he found himself _trying_ to make her laugh then, making ridiculous faces and sounds.

Mahariel’s face had never been so elated.

When dawn was nearing and their friends were passed out in their tents, when Alistair and Mahariel had consummated their marriage, making love well into the night, that’s when she dropped the question.

It was a whisper, testing the waters as his lips kissed her chest, as his hands lovingly trailed her skin, tempted to try her again, to make her scream for him, but the words stopped him short.

He didn't falter necessarily, but rather than making his way downward like he intended, his lips pursued her collarbone, her jaw, until he was licking into her mouth with ease, panting at the way she tugged on his hair _just right_ , until he finally murmured, “ _Anything for you_.”

Though judging by the way she glanced away, that still wasn't quite the answer she was waiting for.

 ---

 “What would you do if we had a child, my love?”

“My heart would soar with happiness.”

It was a rainy day.

They were visiting the cottage on the lake for the first time since their wedding, nearly _five_ _years_ ago, curled up together on the porch, overlooking the lake as it rippled under the heavy drops of rainfall.

Alistair had stood up to go get them some water, but she had risen with him and stopped him with an embrace, wrapping her arms around his neck and asking The Question.

His answer was completely honest, and he could feel the reaction in the tightening of her arms around his neck, could see in her face that she believed him.

Tears filled her eyes.

“You have impeccable timing,” she sobbed.

It took him a moment too long, through his worry over what was wrong with her, to realize she was crying because she was _happy_ . “Maker’s breath, Lyna,” he whispered. “If just me _saying_ this makes you so happy-...”

She shook her head with a smile, stood on her tip-toes and waited for him to close the gap between their foreheads. “It does make me happy, that you want it.” She sniffled, a grin breaking across her face again. “But that’s not-... Alistair, I’m _pregnant_.”

Pregnant.

She was pregnant.

He nearly dropped her from the shock of it, until he was consumed with complete and utter _happiness_ , _excitement_ , that he swept her up off her feet and spun her around, cradled in his arms. “We’re having a _baby_?!” he cried belatedly, and his lips found hers through tears of joy, her still bundled up in his arms with ease.

“Yes, Alistair, _yes._ ” She cried with him, and Maker, he knew he was ready, so many years around Cullen and Ellana’s child having eased his anxiety on the subject away until nothing was left but _want_ , _need_ for a family of his own.

It was why he had brought her out here, to this cottage on the lake, to tell her that he knew he was so late, that he had kept her waiting for way too long, but he was finally _ready_.

Yet she had beat him to the punch, in more ways than one, and he supposed she was right, he _did_ have impeccable timing.

Words, praising her, singing his love for her, spilled from him as he carried her inside and gently placed her on the bed.

He crawled over her, kissed her languidly as she squirmed and giggled under his caresses, until he could do nothing but curl around her, his head resting on her breasts, and pull _his_ shirt that she was wearing, the bagginess obviously hiding the small bump of her stomach, until her skin was revealed and he could run his hand over it in awe.

There was a baby _growing_ in there.

“You didn't have to hide it,” he whispered.

“It-...” Mahariel paused uncertainly, busied herself with scratching her blunt nails through his hair and along his scalp, a comforting gesture. “It was not you, I just… wanted to be certain that- that the baby would be okay.”

He kissed her stomach lovingly before nestling back into his previous position. “Is that what you and Ellana were doing in the village yesterday?”

“With a healer, yes,” she breathed. “We are getting old, my darling,” she murmured lightly. “And with no way to know for certain if the taint is gone I-... I just had to be sure before I told you.”

“The cure worked.”

The words were ones he had never dared to utter, never dared to hope were true, because the cure working meant forever with the love of his life, and if he hoped for that only to hear the Calling suddenly in a year or two…

It would just be too much.

He showered her baby bump with kisses then, so, so grateful for this miracle they had created, for the miracle that was Mahariel finding the cure.

“I love you so much, darling,” he whispered against her skin.

And he couldn't be sure, in that moment, if he was talking to his wife, or his unborn child.

\---

What would Alistair do if he had a child? Maker, he would love and cherish it the moment it, _she_ , was brought into this world and placed into his arms.

He would cry, he _did_ cry, as soon as his baby girl opened her eyes and peered up at him almost curiously.

He would see the way she was lucky enough to resemble her beautiful, goddess of a mother, instead of him.

Although she did have his freckles and eyes.

“Maker’s breath,” Alistair whispered, in awe, as he sat down carefully next to his wife, warmth blooming within him at the way she snuggled up to him, enough to press their bodies together, enough to see their baby at the same time. “Please don't kill me for saying, my love,” Alistair said to her without tearing his eyes away from the bundle of literal _joy_ in his arms. “But I have never seen anything more beautiful.”

Mahariel laughed, oh she laughed, and though it was weak, it was still music to his ears. “Damn right she is the most beautiful sight. Much prettier than you, my dear.”

“Ha ha, yes, poke fun at my ugliness while I agree whole-heartedly with you.”

She kissed his arm, the only thing she could reach without straining and giggled. “You know you are not ugly, you sod.”

“Hey, hey! Language in front of the baby!” he teased easily, then realization hit him. “Oh no. She’s going to be _so_ potty-mouthed with the two of us as parents.”

Mahariel sighed. “It is indeed a fate she is destined for.”

“Well let’s hope that’s the _only_ fate she is destined for.” His voice turned soft as he started cooing at his daughter. “You hear that, my heart? No tainted mirrors, archdemons, or disastrous Fade trips for you! Got it?” She gargled and Alistair _beamed_. “Yeah, you got it, baby girl.” He dropped a gentle kiss to her forehead, and then turned to meet Mahariel’s gaze, full of love and warmth as she tried to withhold a smile and tears. “And a kiss for you, my darling,” he muttered as he leaned over and planted his lips on hers, lingering a hair longer than necessary, but really, what else was new?

“Alright,” his wife breathed. “Can you stop hogging our daughter now? I think it’s my turn.”

Alistair’s laugh echoed through the spacious room, startling the healers bustling about at the tables set up across from the bed, with cleaning up and tonics. “Maker, you’re so _needy_ ,” he joked. “But I suppose I can sate you, you know, since I love you and all.”

“Oh, do you now? I was not sure.” Her grin was playful and _Andraste’s arse_ he couldn't love someone more than he loved her. Even if the Maker himself drifted down and said, _Alright Alistair, I have created your perfect match_ , because then he would have to laugh in the Maker’s face and tell him he’d already _found_ his perfect match.

“I _love_ you,” he murmured for good measure, pushing his face close to hers again.

She sighed dreamily. “Just how much?”

He pecked her mouth. “With all my heart.” He kissed her again, but then his daughter squirming in his arms averted his attention. His insides felt all knotted at the picture of perfection he was holding and he shook his head. “No, that’s not true, is it? Half of my heart. Because the other half belongs to this little miracle now.”

Mahariel sniffled next to him. “Good answer,” she whispered into his shirt.

To avoid crying like a child, Alistair busied himself with rearranging them, calling one of the healers over to help scoot his wife forward until he placed their baby girl in her hands, and settled behind them, back against the wall, Mahariel between his legs so she could nestle back against him comfortably.

He brushed his fingers across her messy hair, attempting to tame the braid it was in, and dropped kisses to any skin of hers he could reach until her body completely relaxed.

He reached around, chin nestled on his love’s shoulder now, to gently trace their daughter’s tiny, pointed ear. “Three quarters Elven,” he muttered, and Mahariel turned her head, reached back to kiss his jaw.

“I was thinking about her name,” she said after a moment.

“Oh, Andraste’s tits, we haven’t even named her yet, what kind of _parents_ -”

“I was thinking about Marie.”

Her words stopped him cold.

“Y-You… really?” His voice was barely present, less than a whisper as his heartbeat skyrocketed, hands trembling where they caressed their daughter’s head.

Marie was his mother’s name.

“After a serving girl?” he tried to joke, but his voice was too shaky to truly pull it off.

Mahariel turned on him, then, as much as she could in her position, expression fierce. “She was your _mother_ , Alistair. You both-” She shook her head. “You both deserved so much better. It’s not fair-...”

“Hey, hey, hey…” Alistair pressed his lips to the skin under her ear, lingered there. “I’m not going to say her death, or the way my childhood was handled was fair, but, Lyna, it led me to you.” He kissed her skin again. “You and that little girl in your arms are my happily ever after.” His nose grazed along her ear. “You make all of it worth it.”

Her laugh was garbled with a sob as she shook her head. “You are so pure, darling. So good. I do not know what I did to deserve you, both of you.”

Alistair shook his head as well, breath bouncing off of her skin as he gazed with her, down at _Marie_. He sniffled. “If her name is Marie, then her middle name is Alehmana.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Mahariel breathed. Alehmana was _her_ mother’s name. He felt her skin warm beneath his trailing lips on her shoulder and smiled. “That would be-... _Marie Alehmana Theirin_.”

Marie hiccupped and Mahariel started _crying_. “Lyna, no, oh, Lyna stop,” Alistair pleaded. “I’ve been trying not to cry this whole time, _don’t make me break now_.”

But she chuckled and shook her head, lifted their daughter until her lips could brush against her cheek. “Hiccups are no fun, are they, ma’ vhenan?” she murmured. “I will always remember this one time your father got the hiccups, and Zevran told him that standing on his head would help rid him of them…”

Alistair groaned but tucked his chin into the crook of her neck as she continued the embarrassing story, more content than he had ever felt in his entire life.

 

The words played like a song in his head, a loving memory.

_“What would you do if we had a child, my love?”_

He would love her unconditionally until the end of time.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are so, so, so appreciated! I love any and all feedback! Thank you for reading!


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